


just a shot away

by Polexia_Aphrodite



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Dark, Espionage, F/M, Vietnam War, Washington D.C.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polexia_Aphrodite/pseuds/Polexia_Aphrodite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s late February when Major Barnes moves into the office across from Darcy’s desk. The first thing she notices about him is the empty left sleeve of his uniform, pinned up and out the way. The purple bar on his chest tells her everything she needs to know about it. She’s gotten used to this; they all have – promising young men wounded and pulled from the field to work desk jobs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A 1968 AU featuring Darcy Lewis and the Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a shot away

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Rolling Stones' _Gimme Shelter_. As always, hope you all like it. Many thanks to [Britt1975](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Britt1975/pseuds/Britt1975) for beta-ing.

**

**Washington, D.C.  
1968**

General Phillips is a legend – he keeps a framed photograph of him and Captain America on his desk just to remind people _why_. Being his secretary lends Darcy a certain degree of authority not granted to the other girls, who spend their days typing up correspondence for the staff sergeants and colonels whose offices line the endless corridors of the Pentagon. In this particular hallway, wide and white-tiled with a row of secretaries typing under fluorescent lights, lower-ranked officers come and go, but the General and Darcy stay. 

It’s late February when Major Barnes moves into the office across from Darcy’s desk. The first thing she notices about him is the empty left sleeve of his uniform, pinned up and out the way. The purple bar on his chest tells her everything she needs to know about it. She’s gotten used to this; they all have – promising young men wounded and pulled from the field to work desk jobs.

The missing arm isn’t the only thing she notices, though. There’s a certain haunted, blank look in the eyes of soldiers who have seen combat, and Major Barnes has it in spades. Darcy used to only see it in old-timers who had served in Europe or the South Pacific, but more and more she sees it in the eyes of younger men, who have lost their legs or arms or souls in the jungles of Vietnam.

The General notices him, too. Phillips looks at him like he’s seen a ghost, but Barnes becomes a favorite anyway, constantly disappearing into the General’s office for hours on end. In the years she’s worked for him, Darcy’s never seen the older man look at anyone with such regret and guilt, and it’s startling. It makes her wonder if they know each other, but she knows it isn’t possible – their wars were on the opposite sides of the globe and decades apart.

Like most of the officers, Barnes is clean-cut and amiable, but the reverent way Phillips treats him sets Darcy on edge. The supercilious way Barnes surveys the office as he walks through it doesn’t improve her opinion of him, nor does the fact that she can’t find any personnel records on him from the bases where he’s supposedly been stationed. 

But regardless of how many arms he has, or how frustratingly enigmatic Darcy finds him to be, Barnes is damn handsome, with his straight shoulders and ice-blue eyes; the other girls in the hall fawn over him relentlessly. Darcy knows that, in the absence of another Captain America, these women will take what war heroes are offered them. Barnes flirts with all of them, as does every other officer who passes through, but he lingers longest around Darcy’s desk, usually on his way into or out of Phillips’ office. 

It becomes commonplace to find him leaning against the edge of her desk, looking down at her with a rakish smile and his hand in his pocket. He asks her about the General, about what it’s like to work for him. He acts like he wants to know everything about her. Darcy knows that it’s a ploy to get under her skirt, but she indulges him anyway. The truth is, she’s sizing him up, too. Trying to figure out where he came from and what it is about him that pulls Phillips towards him like a magnet.

Most evenings, Darcy and Major Barnes are the last ones to leave. On the way to the elevator one night, he offers to buy her a drink and she lets him. At a noisy, smoke-filled bar, squeezed in among dark-suited senator’s aides and lobbyists, he asks her what she thinks about the war and last fall’s protests. She shrugs and tells him that she hates it; she knows too many former classmates and old boyfriends who have gone over and come back broken into pieces.

He scoffs at her, but the hooded look in his eyes is almost conspiratorial. “Better get the flowers out of your hair, sweetheart,” he tells her, “I don’t think Uncle Sam’d like to hear you talking like that.”

Darcy rolls her eyes, “I’m not exactly wearing love beads to the office. But I’m still allowed to think what I think.”

Barnes just smiles at her and orders her another drink. He’s charming, and she’s not immune to it. When he walks her home, she lets him come inside her building, and take her all the way to her front door.

He leans against her doorjamb as he tells her goodnight. He’s got a smug, presumptuous look in his eyes, but Darcy likes her men a little cocky, so when he leans in to kiss her, she doesn’t stop him. 

She already knows she’s not going to let him in, but it doesn’t take long for her resolve to falter. He pushes her up against her door with his whole body, his only hand warm on her hip. He feels heavy and warm and _complete_ against her; it’s easy to forget that he’s missing anything. Darcy kisses him back with a fervor that surprises even her; the drag of his tongue against hers lights her up, makes her set aside her suspicions for a few long minutes. 

When she feels the hard press of his erection against her hip, straining through the thin wool of his uniform pants, Darcy knows she should be shocked, knows she should push him away, but instead she slides a hand between them. Her fingers trace up and down his length, her long pink fingernails catching on the fabric. Barnes’ breath hitches and something sparks inside her.

“You should go,” she purrs against the side of his neck. He answers her with a growl and a thrust against her hand. “It’s late, Major Barnes. If that’s really your name.”

He looks down at her and raises an eyebrow. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes; his jacket is open and his tie hangs loose around his neck. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He’s still shoved up against her, and the nearness of him makes her head spin. It’s not just that she can _feel_ how much he wants her, she can see it in his flushed face and dilated pupils. Darcy can’t remember the last time someone looked at her like _that_. In the office he might be cool and haughty, but here, with his arm around her and a hard-on tenting his trousers, he’s ragged and raw and open. 

She hooks her fingers in his lapels, tipping her head back against the door and looking down her nose at him. “No one at Fort Leavenworth’s ever heard of you. I checked. Why do you suppose that is?”

A dark look passes over his face, but then he grins.

“Guess I’m not that memorable.” He kisses her again, slow and dirty, with his hand tangled in her hair, her back pressed against the door, and his knee pushed between her thighs. 

She laughs, raking her fingers through his hair as his mouth works down the side of her neck. “I find that hard to believe.”

Darcy’s glad it’s late, glad all of her neighbors have long since gone to bed, because when Barnes slides his hand up her skirt and pushes his fingers past the crotch of her underwear, she can’t bring herself to stop him. At the first, tentative strokes, she feels like she’s unraveling, like she’s losing her mind, like she won’t be able to stand it if he teases her for another moment.

“ _Please_ ,” she pants, canting her hips towards him.

She hears Barnes murmur something, some low curse muffled against her shoulder, and she freezes, because she _knows_ what Russian sounds like. 

“What did you just say?” she demands, trying to sound authoritative despite the fact that the man she’s trying to interrogate has his hand between her legs and his mouth on her collarbone.

She wants to order him to answer her, or push him away, or _something_ , but then two thick fingers push up into her and she feels her mind go blank. Her last several encounters (maybe all of them, really) have been characterized by too much awkward fumbling and too many toothy kisses. It’s glaringly obvious that, whoever he is, Barnes knows _exactly_ what he’s doing, and the temptation to give in to him, to this, is overpowering.

To give him more access, Darcy hitches up the front of her skirt and slip past the tops of her stockings until she feels the cool air of the hallway on the tops of her thighs. He doesn’t say anything as he works her over, but she can hear his breathing grow labored and feel the slight tremble in his shoulders. The heel of his palm presses against her, his fingers curl inside of her, and Darcy falls apart, gasping incoherent encouragements and rocking her hips against his hand as she comes.

He chuckles a little as he coaxes her down from it, “Only got one hand, but at least I know how to use it.” Darcy manages a weak laugh, the echoes of her orgasm still rippling through her.

When he finally pulls away from her, they’re both breathless and rumpled. His mouth is smeared pink from her lipstick. He murmurs a _goodnight_ in her ear and backs away from her, all the way down the hall and into the elevator. As the doors close on him, the last thing Darcy sees is the satisfied smile on his face.

*

Darcy’s always looked down on the petty, dramatic workplace romances that the other girls seem to live for; she’s a little disappointed in herself for falling for Major Barnes, and so quickly. But, now that she knows what it’s like to have him kiss her and touch her and get hard for her, she can’t help that her heart flutters a little whenever he glances her way. 

Every night for a week, they meet up after work for drinks. Whatever it is about him that unsettles her becomes easier to forget after a few more sessions of heavy petting outside her apartment door. Darcy’s no stranger to secrets – she’s surrounded by them every day – and she starts to accept that there are things she won’t know about him, maybe ever.

She never lets him into her apartment. Any other man would have called her a tease and given up, but Barnes never pushes her; he seems content to just feel her up in the hall and leave them both het up and wanting more.

*

He’s been at the Pentagon a month, getting in good with Phillips and taking Darcy out for drinks, when it happens. It’s another one of their late nights – the kind where Darcy lingers at her desk, finishing typing Phillips’ orders, knowing that Barnes is still in his office. 

She’s just pulling the cover over her typewriter when he steps out into the hall.

Darcy smiles up at him shamelessly. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been looking forward to being alone with him at the end of the day.

She swivels her chair towards him and leans back, looking him up and down. “Your hair’s getting long,” she tells him with one eyebrow raised.

Barnes shrugs and smirks. “Thought I might grow it out.”

Darcy clicks her tongue at him, “Not in front of the General you don’t. There’s a barber in the basement. Get your girl to make you an appointment.”

“No need. I’m leavin’ soon.”

“What? Why?” She’s not sure if she’s more upset that he’s leaving her or that no one’s told her, but either way, it stings just the same.

“Time for me to move on,” he shrugs and gives her a thoughtful, probing look, like he can see her dismay on her face. He holds out his hand and pulls her to her feet, “C’mere.”

He surprises her by leading her into his office, pausing behind her to turn the lock on his door. In the past month, she’s never seen anyone come in or out of this room, not even his secretary. What she sees inside shocks her. 

Except for a desk, chair, and a few filing cabinets, the room is completely empty. The walls are bare; the surface of the desk is clean except for a table lamp that illuminates the room up in an orange glow. He’s spent a month in this office, _a month_ , and it’s just as pristine as it was when he moved in. It’s strangely ominous, and Darcy feels a prickle of dread take hold of her. 

“I’m never gonna know who you really are, am I?” She isn’t sure if she’s really asking him, but the words fall out of her as soon as the realization hits.

“I’m Major Barnes,” he smiles, stepping up behind her and nipping at her earlobe, “Forgettable West Point graduate, currently of Bethesda, previously of Khe Sanh.”

“Like hell,” she pushes back against him, arching her back, dropping her head onto his shoulder and pressing her backside into his lap. He reaches around her, spreading his hand warm on her belly and sliding down, down, until he’s pressing against her through her skirt. 

Darcy knows she should hang on to her anxieties about him, that she should push him away, go home, and go to bed. _Alone_. But it’s hard to hold onto sensible thoughts when every traitorous nerve in her body is pulled taut because of _him_.

“You think I’m a spy, Miss Lewis? That I’m a Red?” he rumbles next to her ear. “Prove it.”

His hand moves to the zipper of her dress, pulling downward until she can feel cool air on her skin from the nape of her neck to her tailbone.

He presses a line of kisses down the side of her neck and along the curve of her shoulder, pushing aside the fabric of her dress and her black elastic bra strap as he goes. His hand and mouth never leave her, but her dress slides to the floor. And then she’s standing in her underwear in this empty room with this man she doesn’t understand, but wants anyway.

He moves slowly; the methodical, purposeful sweep of his hand over her body makes her wonder if he’s been waiting for this, planning this, looking forward to it. He unclasps her bra and lets it fall to the floor; he feels the weight of each breast in his hand. Darcy struggles to keep her breathing even as he rolls each nipple to a hard peak. He’s felt her up plenty of times, over her coat or clothes and the stiff fabric and underwire of her bra, but the feel of his calloused palm on her bare skin makes her eyes roll up into her head. She struggles for composure.

“What makes you think I’m going to do this with you? You’re leaving.” 

“You haven’t stopped me yet.”

There’s a smirk in his voice. She rolls her eyes and turns to him with her arms over her breasts. She raises her eyebrows expectantly

“Because you’re curious, Lewis. Saw it on you the moment I first laid eyes on you. And now,” he pulls her arms down and wraps his arm around her waist, tugging her against him. He looks down at her, his eyes fixed on hers, “you’re wondering what it would be like to fuck a question mark.”

Darcy frowns. “Is that what you are?”

He swallows hard. Something guarded and hesitant passes over his face. They both know he’s tipping his hand.

“Feels like it,” he whispers, “Sometimes.”

She purses her lips. Her fingers push the buttons of his uniform jacket through their holes. “You wouldn’t have gotten this far if I didn’t want you. Is this what _you_ want?”

“Hell, sweetheart,” he groans, “I’ve wanted you more than…more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.”

For all of his apparent experience, something in the timbre of his voice and the way he nuzzles at the base of her neck tells Darcy that this isn’t something he gets very often. She wishes she knew what exactly it is that he’s looking for – if it’s sex or tenderness or just company.

He picks her up single-handedly, with his arm tight around her waist, and walks them across the room. She’s a little surprised at how strong he is. He sets her on the edge of his desk and steps between her knees, pushing his hips against the heat of her. The pressure makes her whimper and fist her hands in the white cotton of his shirt, pulling the ends of it out from under his belt. Darcy pushes up his undershirt, running her hands along the hot skin of his torso. Her fingers trace dips and valleys and hard lines that she knows are scars.

“I’ve…done things,” he breathes against the side of her face, “Awful things.”

“Don’t you read the papers? Most people here have.” She huffs impatiently, opening his belt and pants and sliding her hands into the front of his boxers. She knows he’s giving her a last chance to opt out, but she’s too far gone to take it. 

He actually _laughs_ and it feels like a small victory, like she’s pulling him out of whatever funk she found him in. But he goes quiet when her hands wrap around his erection, stroking gently until he thrusts against her hand. 

In the next few moments, the two of them work in tandem. Barnes pulls a condom out of his back pocket and shifts his hips until his pants and boxers, halfway-off already, hit the floor. Darcy squirms out of her panties and hose as he slides the latex on. 

For a second, Darcy thinks about making some kind of crack about teamwork, but then Barnes has himself in hand, pressing against her center. He slides the head of his erection up and down her folds, taking a moment to feel how wet she is. Darcy watches his face; his gaze is dropped between them, transfixed by the sight of this new, intimate way of touching her.

Barnes spreads his hand wide over her tailbone, jerking her hips towards his, and pushes into her without warning. Darcy gasps at the sensation – she had known that he was well-endowed, but the stretch and heft of him inside of her is overwhelming.

He moves inside her in long, deep strokes, brushing against the tender patch of nerves just inside her with every thrust. As her vision swims, as she feels a hot coil of tension wind low in her belly, Darcy clings to his shoulders. Even though he’s still wearing his jacket, she can feel how warm he is underneath the olive drab. Holding Barnes is grounding; the feel of him under her hands reminds her that, at least for now, they’re both _here_.

He brings her off with his hand on her hip and his thumb circling her clit. She bites back a moan, because she knows that night is when these halls are filled with janitors, because they’ll never be completely alone here. His orgasm follows hers; he stills inside her, at the end of another deep push, with his forehead dropped onto her shoulder and his mouth open and gasping for breath.

“Come home with me tonight,” she says as soon as she feels the muscles in his neck relax, because she already knows that all she wants to do is _this_ with him, over and over 

He swallows, pulling away from her and pulling his pants back up. “Can’t. Got work to do.”

Darcy frowns. Disappointment shoots through her. She tries to hide it as she puts her clothes back on.

“Where will you go? After this?”

“’s classified.”

“Bullshit.”

Barnes purses his lips; for a moment he looks like he wants to tell her something, but instead he pulls her against him once more, kissing her hard with his hand behind her head, ruining what’s left of her carefully set curls.

“Thank you,” he mutters against her mouth, and it feels like goodbye.

She leaves him there, in his blank void of an office, and heads out into the cold.

*

The next morning, Darcy finds General Phillips slumped in the seat by his desk, with a bullet hole in his forehead and a spray of blood on the wall behind him. Darcy’s a little proud of herself for not screaming, but the memory of it burns into her brain.

In the hours that follow, there are a lot of barked orders and hushed whispers about missing files. For the first time, but not the last, Darcy hears the words _Winter Soldier_.

They send her home, but she’s not sure if it’ll be any easier to forget the sight of Phillips shot through the head at home or at work. She’s barely stepped inside her door when she sees the envelope, gleaming white against the dark hardwood floor.

She opens it with shaking hands, and recognizes the handwriting immediately. She’s not sure what she expects his last words to her to be. Darcy knows well enough _what_ he is – the mess she found in Phillips’ office explained everything – but, in crowded bars and empty hallways, in the room that masqueraded as his office, he showed her something else. As her eyes run across the smooth lines on the stationary in her hand, her heart catches and drops like a stone:

 

_you were never part of the mission_

 

**


End file.
